


I Don't Even Like Lana Del Rey

by perpetuallycaffeinated



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 07:57:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3760630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetuallycaffeinated/pseuds/perpetuallycaffeinated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will’s thoughts were going in a very inappropriate direction, and he had a growing suspicion that they were being led in that direction by a firm, determined hand. He gave another half-hearted bark of a laugh and threw back the remaining coffee like a shot. </p><p>“Maybe Zeller and Price changed the wrong number’s ringtone. Jack’s not the one listening to me when I feel like I’m coming unhinged and feeding me the best damn food I’ve ever eaten in my life.”</p><p>“No,” Hannibal agreed quietly, “he is not.”</p><p>The tension and low thrum of arousal were making Will speak impulsively. He knew this, but he’d just finished his drink. There was nothing he could use to stop the question, blunt and presumptuous and rude.</p><p>“So, what, you’re my daddy?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Even Like Lana Del Rey

“Coffee, Will?”

“Yes please.”

Will nodded and sat down at the smaller breakfast table with a sigh of relief. Dinner with Hannibal was always amazing, but he couldn’t lie to himself. There was a kind of relief to be out of the grand dining room and away from elegant furniture and centerpieces of bleached bones. The room was tantamount to a theater. Hannibal’s plays were exquisite, but they demanded that Will remain an attentive and polite audience. Here in the little breakfast nook, he could slouch in his chair without feeling like a fidgety child who’d been dragged to the opera. He could watch Hannibal as he worked, imagining that Hannibal felt the loss of formality as well. The man had shed his jacket and waistcoat, bustling around the kitchen with the sleeves of his immaculate dress shirt rolled up to his elbows. Will’s eyes followed the stretch bared skin as Hannibal busied himself with preparing coffee.

“Is something the matter?”

Will glanced up at the question, feeling a pang of embarrassment as he realized that he had been caught staring. He waved a hand at Hannibal, then towards the two pieces of his suit hung, carefully folded and hung over the back of a chair.

“It’s just like you take off something else, closer to your skin when you put those away. They’re part of what you construct around yourself to control how people see you.”

“An astute observation, and one that my own psychiatrist has made as well,” Hannibal said mildly, placing a cup of coffee in front of Will before sliding into the chair opposite him. “We all construct an image of ourselves to present to the outside world, and clothes are one of the more obvious parts of that. They can function as social markers,” Hannibal’s eyes flicked across Will’s eyes and the bridge of his nose, and Will could feel the phantom pressure of his cheap plastic glasses at the small motion. “Or, in some cases, as shields to separate the vulnerable parts of ourself from the outside world.”

Will took a sip of his coffee, giving an appreciative hum at the taste. At some point Hannibal had learned exactly how he took it, though he couldn’t remember ever telling him.

“I like it,” he admitted, his voice lowering as if sharing a shameful secret. Like it had when he had admitted the same thing about taking Hobbs’ life. “I like having dinner with you, but I think I like this better. You’re letting me see more of the real you, instead of the one you’ve made for other people.”

He lowered his eyes back down to his coffee mug, trying to squash the feeling that he’d accidentally said something much more intimate than intended.

“I would never endeavor to hide myself from you, Will.” Hannibal smiled, and Will could see him shifting forward over the table. Will glanced up just in time to see the corners of his mouth turn up into a soft smile. “It’s a rare pleasure to let someone climb over the walls we’ve constructed.”

Hannibal tilted his head to the side, an unmistakable fondness in his eyes as he stared at the other man. Will stared right back. Something was tightening and building in the air between them, the tension and warp of tectonic plates before they shifted against each other to send the world plunging into a state of chaos.

_You can be the boss, daddy you can be the boss._

_Bad to the bone, sick as a dog._

The loud music brought the moment to a screeching halt. Will cursed, fumbling for his phone as the woman’s voice continued to assure the room that she did, in fact, like ‘daddy’ a lot.

“Shit, _shit_ , I’m sorry, I don’t even like Lana Del Rey. I’ve got to take this, it’s--”

The torrent of excuses halted as he put the phone up to his ear, still pleading silently with Hannibal not to think him rude. To his relief, the man only looked faintly amused.

“Jack? I’m up in Baltimore at Doctor Lecter’s.”

Will shot a crooked smile over the table. Hannibal remained silent, only raising an eyebrow as Jack’s impatient tones wound through the small room. Thankfully, he hadn’t called about an emergency. A backwater town’s police department had requested federal help with an investigation, but he wouldn’t be needed until tomorrow. Jack simply needed Will to cancel his scheduled classes. He was barely on the phone for more than a couple minutes. Still, Will noted that Hannibal looked like he’d had enough time to stack up a multitude of questions while he’d waited.

“I silenced my phone for the dinner,” he blurted out. Hannibal nodded and managed made an observation that was simultaneously bewildering and perfectly sensible.

“You knew that it was Jack without looking at the phone."

Will groaned and scrubbed one hand over his face. He would have preferred silent disapproval over this.

“Price and Zeller set it as Jack’s ringtone a few weeks back as a joke after I said he was treating us like his miscreant children. They think it’s funny.”

“Yes, I imagine they would.” Hannibal sipped his coffee demurely, but Will could see a smile crinkle the corner of the man’s eyes.

“I don’t know why I haven’t changed it yet,” Will grumbled, staring at the phone like it had personally wronged him. “I should.”

“If it truly bothered you, you would have changed it the first time you discovered what they’d done.” Hannibal reached over and plucked the phone from Will’s hands, setting it down on the table between them. “It’s a concrete reminder that they hold a measure of affection for you. People don’t tease others that they consider to be outsiders, especially with anything that contains sexual overtones.”

“I guess.” Will sighed and dropped his head onto the table. Then pulled it back up sharply as the last part of Hannibal’s comment registered. “What do you mean--”

“No, I didn’t assume your remark was meant to be sexual, but the song clearly is,” Hannibal cut in. “‘Daddy’ is a fairly common mark of affection towards a man in an intimate relationship. Especially for men who derive pleasure from providing for their partner.”

Will could feel a blush steadily blossom over his cheeks and ears. If he was lucky, he wasn’t as flushed as he felt. Then again, if he was lucky, Hannibal wouldn’t have ever heard the damn ringtone.

“You seem awfully flippant about it. A lot of people find it weird.”

Hannibal shrugged and ran a finger over the rim of his glass thoughtfully. Did not point out that Will had not included himself in that group of people, though Will doubted the man ever missed the subtext of a conversation.

“There is no harm in the moniker. Our first experiences with relationships are within the family unit; it isn’t surprising that we would attempt to contextualize later interactions along those same lines. A lover who is being cherished is ‘baby,’ a particularly close friend is said to be like a brother or sister.”

Will let out a short laugh.

“I really don’t think I’d sleep with a man who reminded me of my father.”

Hannibal didn’t take the bait, ignoring the offered discussion about Will’s dysfunctional family life.

“The idea of a father, then. It’s a strong archetype, more than just a male parent. The father figure casts a long shadow over Western culture, even into the realm of religion.”

Great. They were actually having this conversation. All of it. Will sat back in his chair and raised his chin in a hint of defiance.

“So Doctor Lecter, what makes someone--” Will swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “Someone a daddy?” He attempted to give the last word a derisive inflection. He was pretty sure he failed.

Hannibal leaned back as well to mirror Will’s position. However, there was no defiance in his position, wide shoulders projecting an air of power and calm.

“A source of logos, of reason and order in an otherwise chaotic world. Someone who readily provides not only guidance, but material and emotional support.”

Will’s thoughts were going in a very inappropriate direction, and he had a growing suspicion that they were being led in that direction by a firm, determined hand. He gave another half-hearted bark of a laugh and threw back the remaining coffee like a shot.

“Maybe Zeller and Price changed the wrong number’s ringtone. Jack’s not the one listening to me when I feel like I’m coming unhinged and feeding me the best damn food I’ve ever eaten in my life.”

“No,” Hannibal agreed quietly, “he is not.”

The tension and low thrum of arousal were making Will speak impulsively. He knew this, but he’d just finished his drink. There was nothing he could use to stop the question, blunt and presumptuous and _rude_.

“So, what, you’re my daddy?”

“Would you like me to be?”

Hannibal might as well have slapped Will across the face. He tried to speak but only managed a short, choked sound as he choked on the sudden lump in his throat. Ever the perfect host, Hannibal slid his own cup of coffee across the table in a silent offer. Will gave a quick nod of gratitude before taking a sip.

“What exactly are you asking?” he finally managed.

“Exactly what I said,” Hannibal took the cup back and drank, tongue flicking against the rim of the cup where Will’s lips had been seconds before. The barest shadow of intimacy Will imagined that tongue delicately tasting his own lips rather than coffee, and this time he knew he wasn’t even close to hiding the flush on his skin. “You’re already aware that I take great pleasure in providing for you in many different ways. If you desired that I take care of you in one more way, I would do so gladly.”

 _Take care of him._ One quick glance at Hannibal’s hands and Will’s brain grabbed the visual and ran with it. Those hands were so delicate with utensils and expensive china, but they were capable of great strength. Strength that would hold him right where Hannibal wanted him, cradled in broad palms with long fingers splayed out, squeezing, stroking. Will’s skin practically sang for want of the contact, and his pants were beginning to feel distinctly too tight around the zipper.

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” Will said, because he was nothing if not a master of self-denial.

“You do you not allow yourself the things that you want,” Hannibal replied, deftly picking apart his terse answer. “With the argument that it is not something you need. But humans indulge in many things that they do not necessarily need, because indulgent pleasures can soften the sharp edges of life.” He paused, then continued, his voice softening along with his expression. “Life has been far too sharp for you, Will. I fear it will leave you in tatters.”

Will didn’t know what to say to that. He stared at Hannibal, chewing at his bottom lip while he tried to find something, anything in the other man’s face that would hint at what the catch was, what Hannibal needed out of the arrangement. There had to be something that would make this offer make sense.

“If it helps to settle your mind,” Hannibal added after letting the silence stretch out between them. “Know that this is no hardship on me. I could be an unapologetically selfish provider, if you allowed it.”

Still no words were to be found on Will’s tongue. Action then, he decided, was the only option. He rose from his chair and carefully walked around the table, hesitating after each step, as if any swift movement would pull Hannibal from whatever madness had overtaken him and compelled him to offer this. The other man watched patiently and simply let him approach. Will stopped when his shoes bumped up against the leg of Hannibal’s chair. He raised a hand, stopped it hovering in between them uncertainly.”

“What the hell do you want from me?"

Hannibal tilted his head to one hand, considering, then covered the hand with his own, lacing his fingers in between Will’s and squeezed.

“I want,” he replied, pulling Will’s hand closer to brush his lips across his knuckles, “to give you anything that you wish to receive.”

Will couldn’t help himself.

“And what if you can’t get me what I want?”

Hannibal actually dignified the impetuous question with a moment’s consideration.

“I think...that that is a highly unlikely situation,” he decided. “I’ve discovered that your happiness is a powerful source of motivation.”

If Hannibal could be this brash and forward, Will sure as hell could. He slid in between Hannibal and the table, swinging one leg wide and situating himself on the other man’s lap in one smooth motion. The look of pleasant surprise on the usually composed face was worth it.

“Anything?” Will let his mouth curl up in a teasing smile. “Even the still-beating hearts of my enemies?”

Hannibal tilted his head up to better look at him, giving a vague hum of consideration.

“You sincerely underestimate the lengths I will go to to aid you, Will. One day,” he added, an answering smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “you will realize just how much I am capable of.”

Will’s snorted and he leaned forward, pushing his forehead up against Hannibal’s. He felt one hand come up to cradle the back of his head, and he allowed his eyes to slide closed at the touch.

“You started this. You can’t scare me off, Hannibal.”

“I _know_.” The two words were soft but forceful, something dark and joyous running beneath them. The sudden shift in tone shocked Will and his eyes flew open again, but then Hannibal was pulling him down and pressing their mouths together. He tilted his head and nipped at Hannibal’s bottom lip, receiving an arm wrapped firmly around his waist for his troubles. The man beneath him was unashamed, fingers burying themselves in his curls and sliding up beneath his shirt to touch skin. His kisses, however, remained gentle, practically chaste in comparison to what Will was itching to do. Hannibal’s mouth was practically been made for kissing with soft, full lips. Lips that were doing maddening things like respecting the pace that Will was setting. Will pushed further, parting his lips and trying to tease some of that commanding side out of the other man. Hannibal made a pleased sound and allowed Will to deepen the kiss, but still didn’t press him for more.

“What happened to ‘unapologetically selfish?’” Will pulled back just enough to speak, complaint breathy and quiet as he spoke against Hannibal’s cheek. Hannibal made a small curious sound in his throat and smoothed both his hands up Will’s back, as if trying to soothe way his discontent.

“I don’t know how far you wish this to go,” Hannibal explained, matching Will’s low, intimate tone. “I would rather err on the side of caution than push.”

“Very respectable,” Will agreed. He tilted to the side and pressed his mouth against the curve of Hannibal’s ear and just sighed his next words. “But I thought Daddy was going to take care of me.”

Will Graham was not aware that humans could growl.

One moment he was sitting in Hannibal’s lap. The next he was pushed back, the edge of the table digging painfully into his back and a solid wall of Doctor Lecter at his front. Hannibal made the sound again, a low dangerous thing rumbling up through his chest and making Will’s toes curl. Firm hands gripped at his waist, yanked him up and back until he was seated on the table with his feet dangling helplessly in the air. Will groaned what may have been an attempt at Hannibal’s name and fisted his hands in the man’s hair.

“Say it again,” Hannibal demanded, slotting himself in between Will’s legs, forcing his thighs to the point where Will could no longer find any leverage; only the hard press of Hannibal’s body kept him from falling to the floor.

“Hannibal,” Will gasped, letting his head fall back as Hannibal’s gentle mouth turned wicked, sliding up the curve of his neck to bite at the sensitive skin below his jaw.

“Try again, dear boy.”

A whine escaped Will’s throat, embarrassingly pitched and needy. Hannibal rolled his hips forward at that. Will’s voice hitched and he barely managed to stop himself from keening at the feeling of Hannibal’s arousal pressed against the joint of his thigh.

“Hannibal?” A questioning lilt at the end of the name this time. Will barely got the last syllable out before a hand came up to bury itself in his curls and yanked, exposing his throat in a vulnerable arch. Hannibal bit the side of his neck, his teeth sinking in even more forcefully than before.

“Now good Will, I know you’re more clever than that.” The dark undercurrent had returned to Hannibal’s voice, low and almost threatening as he ran his tongue over the bite. The light pressure stung and Will hissed, digging his nails into the nape of Hannibal’s neck as his mind struggled to reason through the haze of lust. He’d said it to get Hannibal to be more assertive, but just those few words and the man had turned into this--

Oh. Say _that_. Even in his current position, Will managed a moment of smug satisfaction.

“Say what, Daddy?”

Once, as a small boy raised on the Gulf Coast, Will had tried to stand against the breaking waves. The swells of water had slammed into him like a strikes from an angry god, the weight of the whole ocean behind them as he was yanked from his feet, felt the cruel sting of salt in his nostrils threatening to drown him, subsume him entirely for his folly.

Now Will found himself drowning in Hannibal Lecter. The man’s kisses left his head spinning, long, open mouthed kisses punctuated with vicious bites. Those strong hands he’d been fantasizing about pulled him closer by the ass, squeezing tight as he ground the two of them together. Will could feel the hard line of Hannibal’s cock through the thick fabric of their trousers, and his skin turned greedy again. Hands were suddenly not enough; he needed to feel that skin on skin, feel the whole of Hannibal on him without anything between them and let the other man use his mouth on him in turn, devour every inch of his flesh.

“Fuck me.” The words were out before Will realized it, but once they were, he was absolutely certain what he wanted. “Please Daddy, fuck me,” he gasped, legs jerking like a broken marionette as Hannibal groaned and slid a hand down the back of his pants. Will arched into it as Hannibal used his other hand to flick the button of his trousers open, giving him more room to reach further, those long fingers skimming over his hole.

His dry, unlubricated hole.

Goddammit. 

Hannibal seemed to realize at the same time, spitting a foreign curse into the curve of his partner’s neck. He pulled his hand back, contenting himself with stroking and squeezing the curve of Will’s ass.

“Will...Will, the things we need are in my bedroom,” he explained. “Just wait here.”

Will found himself struck with a completely illogical panic; Hannibal couldn’t leave him, couldn’t stop touching him right now. If he let Hannibal out of his sight, out of this room, the scales would tip and this moment would never return.

“No, please.” He clutched at Hannibal’s shirt until the seams threatened to tear, and there was no coyness in the plea this time. When Hannibal relented and shifted his weight back against him, Will didn’t even bother to try hiding his relieved sigh. “I just want you right now.”

“Alright,” Hannibal murmured.  He pushed a hand between their bodies, pushing and pulling until the layers of cloth separating them were unceremoniously shoved out of the way. Will distantly realized that they were going ruin their clothes, but found he couldn’t bring himself to care. Hannibal’s carefully sculpted hairstyle had fallen into disarray, and his shirt was a rumped mess. Even more impressive was the thick cock jutting up from the folds of his trousers, only made more base and obscene by the surrounding fabric. God, how much did Hannibal’s outfit cost? Will would be able to simply throw his pants into the washing machine. How did one go about getting come out of something worth thousands of dollars? He felt a little frisson of pleasure go down his spine at the thought, even as he gave a breathy laugh.

“What do you find so amusing, Will?” Hannibal asked around a kiss. His voice was stern, but Will could feel the smile curving against his own mouth. He grinned right back.

“We came in here for coffee, and now I’m going to make you come on a pair of pants that probably costs more than my entire wardrobe.”

“A risk that I accepted when agreeing to something like this,” Hannibal acknowledged, adjusting their hips so that their cocks rubbed and slid together, pre-ejaculate already easing the way. “Though I imagine it will be less of a hazard when I take you properly.”

Another soft snort of laughter, mixed with an appreciative moan as the tension curled and expanded at the base of Will’s spine.

“T-take me properly?”

“When I fuck you.” Hannibal practically purred the curse word, the coarseness once again made even more shocking wrapped up in the doctor’s cultured accent. Will’s breath hitched, and his cock twitched where it was pushed between their stomach’s. Hannibal looked down at the display of lust, considered Will’s response like an interesting problem. “Do you like to hear me say such filthy things?”

“Yes,” Will hissed, stomach muscles straining as he tried to meet Hannibal’s rhythm from his awkward position.

“Then you will be pleased to know--” Hannibal groaned, teeth gritted as he struggled to return some control to his voice, “--that I very much intend to fuck you on this table at the next opportunity.”

“Oh _fuck_ , Daddy.” The word slipped out easily this time, but Hannibal’s reaction to it wasn’t diminished. He rewarded Will with a sharp bite to the shoulder and more promises of future pleasures.

“You will have to be good,” he warned, “and keep your hands off yourself. You need someone to take care of you and just make you feel good, don’t you?”

Will imagined it, clenching white-knuckled at the edges of the table while he was fucked open in the morning sunlight. All he could manage was a weak “uh-huh.”

“We will have to clean up, of course,” Hannibal continued. “But you know how well I smell, Will. I’m afraid that if I have someone, Uncle Jack maybe, over to eat that same day, I’d smell your sweat and come in the air the entire time. I’ll have to prepare something that will compliment your bouquet."

“Keep talking, for the love of Christ keep talking. Oh God Daddy, don’t stop, it feels so good.” Will knew he was babbling, but he didn’t care, knew he wouldn’t care even after they were done with this. As long as Hannibal Lecter didn’t stop enumerating what he was going to do to him in graphic detail.

 Hannibal kept up the litany, hips snapping just as steadily as he wondered aloud how Will would taste when he had the leisure to eat him open first, how Will’s beautiful eyes would look gazing up at him while he sucked him down, how Will would taste him when it was his turn.

Will’s orgasm blindsided him, too lost in Hannibal’s fantasies to recognize it building at the base of his spine. He was slipping into Hannibal’s mind, picturing how he’d look as the man fingered him open after a night of being treated to fine dishes, when his whole body tensed and bowed as he came with a grunted curse. Hannibal kept rutting against him, but his descriptions soon trailed off into haphazard gasps and groans as he neared climax. Still lost in a post-orgasmic haze, Will slung his arms around Hannibal’s shoulders and kissed him on the cheek with a sweet sigh.

“You can come on me, Daddy.”

Will won the second shocked look from Hannibal that night as the man shuddered silently and came between them. Even with orgasm-weak knees, Hannibal managed to arrange both of them into a dignified collapse, Hannibal sitting on the floor with Will sitting once again in his lap. They both had, to Will’s perverse delight, completely ruined Hannibal’s fine trousers. He hummed tunelessly and reached down to rub a streak of come further into the material.

“Will you send them to the dry cleaners, or just throw them out?” he wondered aloud.

Hannibal looked down to see what WIll was doing. If he was dismayed, he hid it very well.

“I think the pants can be saved, despite your best efforts.”

Will just fixed him with a grin, flopping forward in Hannibal’s arms and peppering the side of his face with little kisses. He usually hated how boneless and pliant he got after sex, but this whole night had been a little ridiculous. Besides, he was discovering that Hannibal made an extremely comfortable piece of furniture.

“I’ll just have to try harder to ruin you next time,” he promised. Content with all of the contact. Content with the promise that there would be a next time.

“I’m sure you will eventually succeed,” Hannibal agreed, gently petting his head instead of pulling now that the heat of passion had died down. Will sighed happily and leaned into the touch, eyes at half mast. “But I will ruin you as well, my remarkable boy.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this: http://granpappy-winchester.tumblr.com/post/63815580305


End file.
